


Discontent

by Dr_Madwoman



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Withernsea AU, domestic life, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Madwoman/pseuds/Dr_Madwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, she wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discontent

Sarah sometimes wonders if she’s done the right thing.

This doubt is a quiet one, only showing up when she’s knackered midway through the day and there’s still so much (too much) left to do. In those moments she thinks that nothing has changed for her in this new life; she still works her fingers raw, needle flashing endlessly. She still gives and gives and gives of herself, her time and energy devoted to others, as always.

She’s a wife now (Andrew’s a good man, the best man she’s ever known), and the mother of a small daughter who smiles her father’s smile and is sweet and curious and brilliant (in Sarah’s estimation). She loves them both -she does, truly- but she is more obscure now than ever before, another brick in society’s foundation.

There was, at least, some power to be found living in Lady Grantham’s shadow.

Most days it’s a relief to be away from the gilt and glamor of the big house, the mindless nattering of the other servants- Sarah is proud of their little home, pin-neat and decorated exactly to her tastes (her husband was reared in the Spartan spaces of servant quarters, and is mystified by the concept of doilies or paintings that are actually pleasant to look at). She’s glad to spend her days in Andrew’s company, the two of them bringing up their Sophie in peace.

Yet she thinks, once in a while, that their four clean rooms and plain china are laughable, and sometimes she’s startled at how staggeringly common everything looks. And in some black corner of herself she thinks that there must be more than this, more than working cooking mothering rutting day in and day out. She’s back at twenty again, pushing and pushing at the world to see if it’ll give for her.

Worse still are the times when she is not wholly with Andrew, when it’s another set of hands touching her, delving into her, when it’s another mouth she wants on hers, her breasts, her quim. She still dreams of narrow hips and pert breasts, of slight shoulders and skin that carries no scars. Sarah knows for certain that she once cried out a name that wasn’t Andrew’s, though he was kind enough to pretend he hadn’t heard her.

These transgressions, brief as they are, leave guilt in their wake. Isn’t this enough? Hasn’t she spent the whole of her working life hating having to bow and fawn for scraps, hating them that had everything handed to them for nothing? She has her own home, and a man who has gladly thrown open all the doors of his inner self, inviting her in, making her welcome. She has a bright, pretty, healthy little girl who grows stronger every day. She and her husband are beholden to no one, and all they touch is theirs free and clear.

Isn’t any of it enough ?


End file.
